Complicated
by Squin
Summary: Who ever said that love was simple? Hermione tries to remember how she made such a big mistake while Ron tries to sort out his feelings and Draco hardly has to try to cause a lot of heartache. R/Hr/D (Re-write in progress. Read it and love it -- again.)
1. Author's Note

**Complicated  
**_by Squin_

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling (aka _The Goddess_), various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books and Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Credits for the quotes used are at the end of each chapter.  
I own nothing except the plot. Cheers :o)

Summary: On the eve of graduating, Hermione looks back on her last year and a half at Hogwarts and realises she too can make mistakes. Ron starts to understand feelings he's been harbouring for quite a while, but finds himself faced with his worst nightmare. Draco's change of heart ensures that the bad comes with the good, but why did he change in the first place? Just as life is never fair, emotions are never simple. R/Hr/D.

**Rated: PG** (Some mild language, adolescent themes and lots of Angsty Mushy-Fluff)

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

_Latest actual update: 15 July 2002 – Part Two posted_

_Latest quasi-update: 7 July 2007 – I can't be bothered to write this anymore..._

Aw.... It's been nearly a year since I updated this... mainly because I've been busy with uni and other stuff... OoP being published kinda got me thinking about writing more, but honestly, I don't have the time, and when I do have the time, I always have other things I'd rather be doing... I'm so sorry! So reader beware, this fic is unfinished (it's actually barely just started...) and doesn't look likely to be finished any time soon... 

Uncompletedly yours,  
**Squinny :)**

**----------------------------**


	2. Prologue

****

Complicated  
_by Squin_

Prologue: Looking Back

Hermione sat on the grassy bank, staring out over the lake. It was a warm June afternoon and a gentle breeze blew through her hair. She ran her fingers through it to push it out of her face, catching a few of the knots in her unruly curls. On her second-last night as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she could proudly say that she had a lot to show from the last seven years.

She was Head Girl and the next day would be graduating with 15 OWLs and 10 NEWTs as top of the year. She was one of the best students to have ever attended Hogwarts, and certainly the best in my lifetime, a beaming Professor McGonagall had told her earlier that morning. With a summer internship as the Ministry already lined up and excellent references from her teachers on her CV, she wouldn't have problems getting a job. And besides, she would be working with Professor Dumbledore and the Order to try and put an end to Voldemort once and for all.

However, there was something missing from her life. Or someone, to be exact. Ron Weasley had been one of her two best friends since the night they had saved each other from a mountain troll and the fury of Professor McGonagall.

But over the last year and a half, Hermione had pushed him away. And he had pushed her away.

It was hard to pinpoint on whom to lay the blame. In truth, no one was at fault. No one had done anything wrong.

For the better part of six years she had two incredible friends. They had been inseparable. Potter, Weasley, Granger. Hogwarts' answer to the Three Musketeers.

But things changed. Choices were made. Excuses were ignored. Friends drifted apart.

Ron and Hermione had been too proud to forgive each other, both believing that the other's behaviour did not warrant an apology. Harry had tried to mend fences, but there was a hole in this particular wall that only two people could fix. And they refused to do anything about it.

While what happened had been nobody's fault, Hermione started to feel as if she was the one to blame for the fact that things would never be the same again. She hadn't done anything wrong, and yet

Hermione lay down on the soft grass and let it support her, and gazed up at the brilliant blue sky.

A single tear escaped out of the corner of her eye and trickled towards her ear. She wiped it away as another took it's place.

Why is everything so complicated? Oh God, why did I do it? Why did I let this happen?

She closed her eyes and tried to figure it out.

After Viktor Krum had dumped her early in Fifth Year, (by owl, no less, the insensitive git) Hermione decided that she would stop worrying about boys', as they always seemed to complicate everything. Like what happened with Ron during Fourth Year. They were great as friends; they were always honest, never bitched like girls do and could be very supportive when they wanted to be. Although he had never really meant as much to her as she had to him, Viktor's final letter had added to pressure of everything that had been happening with Voldemort's return and Hermione found herself unable to cope. Harry and Ron had been wonderful as she sat there bawling in the empty common room that lunchtime. Although Ron seemed to be quite unconcerned at first, he became very sympathetic after receiving a kick in he shins from Harry, and sat holding her while she cried on Hagrid's back porch. Hermione had run there to be alone, but was soon very grateful for Ron's presence.

Yes, boys made brilliant friends, but in terms of relationships,' guys were more effort than they were worth.

She should have listened to her own advice.

If I could turn back time  
I never would've thought that I  
Could lose you boy but now I know  
I should've never let you go  
If I could have one wish  
I'll be the first to tell you this  
Is never what I wanted, no  
I should've never let you go

*

__

Continued in Part One****

Credits – Songs/Poems/Quotes (in order of appearance)  
-- _I Should Have Never Let You Go_ – Bardot//Bardot (2000)

Disclaimer – All characters and events you recognise from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling (aka _The Goddess_)   
I own nothing except the plot. Cheers :o)


	3. Part One

Complicated  
_by Squin_

Part One: The Wheels Are In Motion

Merlin, I'm starving. Hagrid just made the whole class carry bales of Ambrosia wheat from the front gate to the Pegasus paddock in Care of Magical Creatures this morning. Oh, and it's the first day back after Christmas holidays, so, of course, it's _snowing_.

I'm so sick of working. That was stupid, I complain, as we head back up to the castle for lunch.

Hermione shakes her head. Oh come on Ron, this is Sixth Year, it's not fun and games anymore.

When the hell was it ever fun and games? I decide not to say anything though.

says Harry thoughtfully, Since when is _carrying wheat_ going to be tested in the NEWTs? I mean, don't get me wrong, Hagrid's a champ, but Ron's got a point.

_Responsibility_, Harry, says Hermione sniffily, looking peeved as she shuts the front doors behind her and walks with us across the Entrance Hall to the Great Hall. We've got to learn about work ethic

Yes Miss-Head-Girl-To-Be Ma'am, I say.

Hermione shakes her head again, but she's got a bit of a grin on her face I can't believe you two were actually made Prefects, I mean, I've never met a bigger pair of Quidditch-obsessed slackers in my entire – She stops her tirade suddenly though, because that slimy git Malfoy just walked right into her.

He seems all dazed, and pulls back suddenly, smashing into the doorjamb.

he mumbles. Did he just _apologise?_ He looks at Hermione for a split second, and then mopes off to the head of the Slytherin table.

Well, that was odd, says Harry, craning his neck around to stare at him as we head to the Gryffindor table.

You can say that again, I say.

Harry looks at me, then grins. Well, that was odd.

We both crack up.

He looks really depressed, says Hermione, ignoring us. She's still watching Malfoy, who's sitting next to Parkinson and Goyle but ignoring everyone and not touching his food.

Serves him bloody right, I say, piling bangers and mash onto my plate.

No one deserves to be depressed, Ron.

I say. The Ferret deserves whatever he gets.

Hermione shakes her head.

Ah, speaking of The Ferret, says Harry looking excited, training's on tonight. We're not _slacking off_ just because it's the first day back, we have some serious tactics to organise for the Slytherin match, my good Keeper.

Aye-aye, Captain, I say, saluting.

But the Slytherin match isn't 'til the middle of February! says Hermione, looking bemused.

says Harry very gravely, Only a month and a half to prepare, we're very behind schedule.

Hermione rolls her eyes and looks up to the sky on the Enchanted Ceiling. Dear God, I know I'm a witch and that's all very bad and everything, but please just answer this one question: why do I have to be friends with such mindless prats?

Because you wuv us! says Harry, looking deeply upset, pulling puppy dog eyes and sticking out his lower lip. I can't hold back a chuckle.

Hermione pretends to think. No, that can't be it, she says.

I resent you calling us prats and saying you don't love us, Hermione, I say, pretending to be offended.

But you know it's true, right?

Maybe I actually _am_ offended you're right But then, why _are_ you friends with us?

The world works in mysterious ways, she says, grinning.

I love that smile. Did I just say _love_? That's not what I meant. Really. She's just got a really nice smile. I'm allowed to say my friend's got a really nice smile, aren't I?

Something Bill said to me over the holidays comes to my head.

Harry and Hermione came home with us, and Bill was over from Egypt we were having a snowball fight and I'd just chucked two at Hermione.  
HAH! Take that frizz-head!  
Bill and I were hiding behind a tree.  
You know, if you like her in that way, you've really gotta stop being such an idiot around her, said Bill.  
Like who in what way? I said.  
Hermione, dunderhead.  
Hermione? What about Hermione? She's my best friend. I wondered where this was going.  
Are you sure?  
Of course I'm bloody sure. Why wouldn't I be sure who my best friends are?  
Are you sure she's not more than a best friend?

More than a best friend? I don't like her more than a best friend. She's my best friend. She's _Hermione_.

She's looking at me with a puzzled look on her face. I realise I've been staring at her.

she says.

You're still upset that I don't love you, aren't you? she says. Is she mocking me?

OOOOOOOH, defensive, says Harry.

Well, she doesn't love you either.

He pretends to sob.

says Hermione under her breath, shaking her head. She got that off me.

Grinning, I stab a sausage with my fork, but as I'm bringing it up to my mouth, I suddenly feel really sick it's odd, my stomach feels empty, but I want to spew. I look up at the Ceiling and take a deep breath to calm myself down.

Like when the whole Viktor Krum thing happened, your reaction wasn't one a best friend would have. Harry didn't go mental, said Bill.  
I didn't go mental!

I was worried about her. Who knew what he'd be up to? He was from Durmstrang. He was _eighteen_ and Hermione was _fourteen_. Excuse me, but does that not sound _illegal_ to anyone else? My _reaction_ was completely understandable. And I was right, wasn't I? He dumped her. He made her cry. What a bastard. _I wasn't jealous._

Harry makes a noise beside me that I think is supposed to be radio static. Ssssch. Earth to Weasley. This is Mission Control. Come in, Weasley. Do you read us?

I must've been staring at the Ceiling for ages.

Sighing and cricking my neck, I shoot a mock serious glare at him. Harry, how many times do Hermione and I have to tell you? Muggle electronic communication devices _do not work within the grounds of Hogwarts_.

Hermione bursts out laughing. Ronald Weasley, I am _so_ proud of you! She's grinning.

I never noticed before, but her eyes have these cool rings with different shades of brown in the irises – 

Oh whoa, that smile

I'm surrounded by faces and smiles  
Is it you who I'm seeking tonight  
Maybe now or maybe a while  
But I'll know it when it's right  
I see love in your eyes  
But I could be mistaken  
I see love in your smile  
Is it you who I'll be taking tonight

*

Friendship is one of the strongest bonds there is. But it is also a very fragile and delicate thing that can crumble to pieces when attacked with secrets, lies and pride.

It was in Sixth Year when Hermione found herself changing her mind and ignoring her own advice. At the time it was one of those strange things that was simultaneously wrong and yet right. It turned out to be the cause of more heartache than Hermione ever could have imagined possible.

That was the year Professor Snape had decided to assign cauldron partners who would be working together for a whole term. On returning to school after the Christmas break, she was dismayed to find herself sharing a cauldron with Draco Malfoy, who appeared to be equally disgusted.

Pass the porcupine quills, Mudblood.

Get them yourself, Ferret.

They were both fuming that first lesson. The Memory Potion they were working on was ruined, and Snape took ten points from Gryffindor. He seemed to be quite pleased with the pairing arrangements, as it allowed him to take points off Gryffindor and particularly Hermione just about whenever he wanted.

Then the rest of that week Malfoy didn't even talk to her. Hermione didn't care.

The less I have to hear from the git, the better.

Something that surprised Hermione however, was how easy it was for her to work with him. They hardly uttered a word to each other, each too busy focussing on the project at hand. Both of them worked doing their own thing, but when they had to collaborate in the final stages of the assigned task, everything would come together seamlessly. They may have hated each other, but they made a very efficient team.

Malfoy was smart. The Gryffindors may have spited him for being Snape's pet, but while working with him, Hermione saw that Potions was like second nature to him. His precision with the ingredients, his fluidity with the delicate movements required for stirring some of the more potent concoctions and his confident conscientiousness proved why Malfoy's rank in this subject was, for once, higher than hers.

But Hermione did notice that something was wrong with him, something unusual about his demeanour. He often had an almost glazed expression on his face he looked depressed like on the first day back that term, when he'd walked into her, not realising where he was going. Every so often he would glance at her. Something was definitely wrong.

Are you all right? she asked gently one lesson. It had been nearly two weeks since term started.

Why would you care, Granger? he said coldly, measuring out six drops of essence of belladonna in their cauldron for the dreamless sleep potion the class was concocting to replenish Madam Pomfrey's stock.

You just don't seem like yourself. Hermione took her eyes off the asphodel roots she was slicing and looked up at him.

It's none of your business, is it? Malfoy put down the vial and eyedropper on the bench and glared at her.

she replied quietly, turning back to the roots. It just that She couldn't think of what to say.

Just keep your abnormally large head out of it, Granger.

Well, at least that seemed normal.

The contents of the cauldron turned bright red as the asphodel roots where added.

It was a week later, late in January, when something completely _un-normal_ happened.

Hey Granger, can I ask you something? Malfoy and Hermione were sitting in the library working on a Potions assignment that was due the next week. They sat at right angles to each other, at a table a little way from Madam Pince's desk. Hermione liked the idea of being quite in the open when she was with Malfoy, in case he _went mental_, as Ron put it.

The two of them had gotten nowhere on the assignment, and Hermione was getting frustrated, and she thought she was also getting the flu.

Why are you being nice me?

Well, I've treated you like dirt for over five and a half years, and then suddenly, completely out of the blue you start acting concerned about me last week why did you do that? You're being well, _polite_ to me. Well, except that first Potions lesson this term. I just always thought you hated me, he added with a shrug.

Hermione looked at him, his cold eyes staring back into her own, and quietly responded, Hate is an awfully strong word, and I don't think I'd use it to describe what I think when I see you.

So what _do_ you think?

Hermione thought for a moment, making sure to get the words right. I think: _why does someone with so much talent feel he has to put down everyone around him in order to feel superior to them, when he's pretty much better than most people already?_ She wondered why she actually said that. She had just complimented Draco Malfoy, the Boy Who Wished Her Dead.

I don't know.

They both just sat there in silence, processing the last few minutes' worth of conversation.

Malfoy stared at her for a moment. Then he looked at his watch. I've got Quidditch practice. We'll finish this sometime next week. He picked up his books and started walking away.

It's due Wednesday, Hermione called after him.

I wasn't talking about the assignment.

Hermione frowned as she watched him leave.

What was that_ about?_

*

It's 3am, Tuesday morning. I'm sitting in the hospital wing, by Hermione's bed, rinsing out a flannel in ice water so I can put it back on her forehead. She's had a fever since just before dinner tonight. Last night. She had the flu all weekend then this afternoon – yesterday afternoon – she just collapsed in the common room. Harry and I brought her up here, but he went to bed about 2 hours ago. So did Madam Pomfrey. She told me to do this flannel thing if she heats up again. She gave Hermione all the usual potions, even Muggle medicine, but there's really nothing else you can do for a fever like this. Hermione's having hallucinations. She's moaning. The fever is burning her up. I'm scared out of my mind.

I whisper, wiping her face with the cold flannel, You'll be ok.

I kiss her on the top of her forehead. Her skin is so warm under my lips.

I don't think she knows I'm here.

6pm, Wednesday night. I've been here all afternoon. Harry was too, but he's got training. He said I could stay. I didn't sleep at all Monday night and hardly any last night so I'd be no good anyway. Madam Pomfrey said Hermione woke up during the day, but she's been asleep the whole time I've been here. I think Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion so she can rest. Her fever's gone, but she's dehydrated, or something, because she had it for two days, and she's on a drip. Ginny just brought my dinner and some flowers for Hermione and left. She gave me a hug, which was pretty nice of her. I guess she knows how buggered I am.

In the window I see the reflection of someone standing in the doorway. He's holding a bunch of flowers.

I swivel around in my chair to see who it is.

_Malfoy._

What the hell is he doing here? He doesn't have any flowers though was I imagining it? I haven't really slept in three days, I must be. There's no way Malfoy would bring Hermione _flowers_.

What are you doing here? I say coldly.

I came to tell her that I got her an extension for the Potions assignment that was due today. He looks pissed off.

Well she's asleep. I'll tell her.

He glares, then turns on his heel and walks out.

The hours pass.

Madam Pomfrey comes in to check on Hermione, and then at 1am tells me she's going to sleep but to wake her up if anything is wrong. You are a wonderful friend to her, Mr Weasley.

A little later.

Hermione stirs and she opens her eyes slowly.

Her voice is hoarse.

I say quietly. How are you feeling?

She nods, Better. My throat hurts, though.

I pick up a bottle of syrupy potion Madam Pomfrey told me to give her if she gets up, and pour out a spoonful.

She eases herself up and drinks the potion, then screws up her face. 

I smile. I haven't spoken to her since Monday afternoon.

Thank you, she whispers, putting her head back down on the pillow. How long have you been here?

Since after school.

How much homework do I have?

Don't worry about it.

Hermione winces.

Are you all right? Should I get Madam Pomfrey?

She shakes her head. No, it's just I've missed so much school. I can believe it.

The only thing you should worry about now it getting better.

I had a Potions assignment due today. I wanted to finish it on the weekend but Malfoy was being slack.

He said he got an extension.

Really? From Snape?

I shrug. I guess it helps that he's the teacher's pet.

Hermione smiles a little bit. How long are you going to stay here with me?

Forever.

I shrug again.

She yawns and whispers, I'm really sleepy.

I nod and pull her covers over her.

Thank you, she says again. She takes my hand and squeezes it.

I sit down in the chair besides the bed and watch as she falls asleep again. I'm still holding her hand. She tugs her hand away, and rests it on her stomach, but she's still holding onto mine. My hand moves up and down as she breathes.

I rest my head on the edge of her bed, and feel myself drift off to sleep.

Oh shit, my neck hurts. I look up and see the sun streaming through the window. Hermione is sitting up in her bed, grinning. She's still holding my hand.

Morning, sleepy head. That smile.

What time is it? I mumble.

she replies nonchalantly.

_Ten_? Oh _bugger_! I'm late for Transfiguration! I jump up to leave but Hermione pulls me back. Why is she still holding on to my hand?

Not that it's a bad thing.

It's alright, Professor McGonagall, said you can skip it as long as we both go to a catch-up session with her on Sunday.

I can live with that. I rub the back of my neck. Do you want breakfast? I'll go get it for you.

Hermione smiles. Ginny brought it up for us. She grabs a piece of toast with jam on it from the tray on the table beside her with her other hand, the hand that's not holding mine, and gives it too me.

I take a bite. It's cold.

Don't you want to heat it up? she asks.

Nah, I'm right. Heating it up would mean using my wand, and my wand hand is currently preoccupied. I finish the toast and then crick my neck. I let out a bit of a groan.

Hermione lets go of my hand and pats the edge of the bed. Here, sit down and face the door.

I'm rather confused but I do it. She puts her hands to my neck and begins to massage it. Her fingers feel like heaven solidified. It's amazing. Within five minutes the pain is gone.

I say, turning around to face her. Thank you.

She shrugs. There's a physiotherapist who works in the same medical centre as my parents' practice. She smiles again.

I can't talk. My head feels like it's going to blow up and my toast wants to see the light of day again. I look at my watch. I better go, Binns won't do any review sessions for me, I say.

Hermione nods. See you later, Ron.

As I head back to my dorm to get changed, I put my hand up to my neck and try to remember the way Hermione's hands felt on it.

Never knew I could feel like this  
It's like I've never seen the sky before  
Want to vanish inside your kiss  
Every day I love you more and more  
Listen to my heart can you hear it sing  
Telling me to give you everything  
Seasons may change, winter to spring  
But I love you until the end of time

*

The Friday night after she got out of the hospital wing, Hermione sat working on the Potions assignment in the library with Malfoy. Snape had asked for it first thing Saturday morning at the latest. Ron and Harry had been hanging around most of the evening, apparently to protect Hermione from Malfoy, but by 11pm Harry convinced Ron to go to sleep by telling him he'd be benched for the Slytherin match if he didn't get to bed at least once that week.

Malfoy, can you pass me _1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi_, please? said Hermione, writing furiously, wanting desperately to finish the assignment and go to sleep.

Sitting next to her, Malfoy made no attempt to pick up the book.

Hermione was sick, tired and really didn't want to get annoyed, but she was starting to get frustrated.

Malfoy, the _book_ if you plea – She stopped suddenly as he looked at him and found him staring at her. His grey eyes were glinting like ice. Er, Malfoy?

Oh, right, he said, smiling ruefully and leaning over the pick the book up off the floor beside him.

As Hermione took the book from him, unable to process the image of Malfoy, sitting there in front of her, smirking. Or was of more of a smile?

It was as if the Universe had malfunctioned.

Malfoy moved his hands so that they were now covering Hermione's has she held the large volume. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She was in shock.

Her eyes moved from their connected hands to Malfoy's eyes, and then she couldn't look away.

Oh my God.

Then Hermione felt overcome by a sudden urge to sneeze. Being incredibly confused apparently doesn't stop anyone from being sick. She tried to pull her hands away to reach for a tissue but Malfoy just held onto them.

With a roaring _ACHOO_, Hermione sneezed, all over Malfoy's hands. His eyes widened with surprise as he let go. It would have been awfully funny if Hermione hadn't been so embarrassed. She picked up the box of tissues and held them out to him, having absolutely no idea about what to say.

Malfoy wiped his hands, and looked at her again. Uh, well, yeah bless you.

They both burst out laughing.

The Universe _had_ malfunctioned.

Madam Pince, shot the two of them a disapproving glare. She appeared to be very annoyed at having to stay so late on a Friday night. Hermione had requested permission from Professor McGonagall to work there after the usual 8pm closing time due to her week off school and the teacher had allowed it just this once.

Hermione and Malfoy quickly stifled their laughter, both grinning madly and pink in the face, and worked a little longer in complete silence.

Hermione didn't dare to look over at Malfoy. She could feel his eyes on her.

Finally, they were finished and mumbled and thanked Madam Pomfrey before heading off to their own common rooms.

Lavender and Parvati were already asleep when Hermione got to her dorm, which was probably a good thing; they would have asked a lot of questions after seeing the odd look on Hermione's face when she open the door.

As she changed into her pyjamas she had a lot more to think about than the massive amount of homework she had to do this weekend.

It didn't make a drop of sense, but Hermione wasn't completely oblivious. Something was going on that wasn't supposed to be.

Draco Malfoy? You've got to be kidding.

How could _he_ ever be interested in _her_, Hermione Granger, a _Muggle-born Gryffindor_? And what was she doing thinking about _Draco Malfoy_ being interested in her? Sure, he was probably the best looking boy in the entire Sixth Year and more than likely the whole of Hogwarts, but he was also a boy who came from a very long line of Dark wizards who had hated her for as long as she had known him. Harry and Ron would have been furious if they knew she was _thinking_ about Malfoy. Because that was all she was doing: _thinking_.

This was too weird.

But the way he looked at her the way his face lit up when he smiled how easy it had been to laugh with him the way she felt when he held her hands

I just can't get you out of my head  
Boy your loving is all I think about  
I just can't get you out of my head  
Boy it's more than I dare to think about  
There's a dark secret in me  
Don't leave me locked in your heart

The next day, just about everyone in Third Year and above went down to Hogsmeade for the afternoon. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden Hermione to go outside in the cold and so she sat alone in the deserted library, catching up on the work she had missed. While Ron had seemed adamant on staying with her, Hermione insisted that he and Harry go and get her loads of Honeydukes sweets.

After working in complete silence for a little while, she felt someone walk up behind her. Turning around, she found Malfoy standing there with his hands behind his back.

How're you feeling, Granger?

Uh, yes, I'm fine. She felt herself blush. _Get a grip, woman._ Um, look, I'm really sorry for sneezing all over you last night that was rather awful.

Malfoy shrugged. Hey, at least I can now say than I'm only of only two guys in the world to have exchanged bodily fluids with the future Head Girl of Hogwarts, he said with a smirk.

For one of the few moments in her life, Hermione found herself to be utterly speechless.

Her bewilderment at the situation was accompanied by a million thoughts flying though her head. This couldn't be happening. This _shouldn't_ be happening.

But it was.

Malfoy took his hands out from behind his back and held a pink gerbera out to her.

Hermione was in shock. This is for me? she spluttered.

A flower?! From Draco Malfoy?

Yeah, it's for staying up with me all night on that assignment after being in the hospital wing for a week. Snape marked it straight away when I handed it in this morning, and we got full marks, so thanks.

Oh, you're welcome. Thank you for getting the extension, said Hermione, taking the flower.

It was very hard to believe that what was happening was actually happening.

It was nothing.

Hermione looked at the flower for a moment, and, her mind still muddled, she said the first thing that popped into her head, It's February, where on Earth did you get this?

Looking very self-assured, Malfoy pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. Well Granger, none of your Muggle boyfriends would be able to get a flower like that at this time of year, but you seem to be forgetting that I'm a wizard.

Oh, right and you'd be my wizard boyfr – Hermione's smile suddenly vanished from her face as she realised what she was just about to say.

Malfoy, however, grinned widely. I was wanting to have a chat about that, actually.

Hermione stared at him blankly, too surprised to put any sort of expression on her face.

said Malfoy, I know this is going to seem a bit random after everything, but I think I like being with you. His self-assuredness was slightly faultering.

A _bit random_? Hermione spluttered again. Un, no shit, Sherlock.

Malfoy smirked. I didn't think you swore, Granger.

In fact, Hermione continued, ignoring Malfoy's comment, considering _everything_, especially the fact that you've presented very clear evidence supporting the case that you _hate_ me over the past five and a half years, I'd come to the conclusion that you _enjoying my company_ is in fact _excruciatingly random_.

Malfoy was still grinning. I know. Last night I lay in bed, trying to figure out what the Hell's going on, but I can't explain it.

Hmmm, an X-File. Quick, call Scully and Mulder, Hermione muttered.

Oh, never mind, she sighed, smirking at her own attempted wit and wondering if being best friends with Ron for this long was starting to have a dispersion effect.

Hermione, please. Will you just give me a chance?

A chance? she asked, rather amused at hearing Malfoy use her first name.

Yeah, come to Hogsmeade with me.

I can't, I'm sick, she responded automatically, not quite registering what he'd just asked her.

All right, next time then?

There was a roaring in Hermione's ears. Draco Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater, was asking her out. It was well, to put it plainly, it was _wrong_.

Malfoy, this makes no sense whatsoever! Hermione hissed. She was most certainly in shock. I mean, I'm a Gryffindor and you're a Slytherin – 

I went out with both Lavender and Parvati last year, Malfoy countered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. Then she looked at him again and narrowed her eyes. You are a Malfoy and I I'm a Mudblood, she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He was Draco Malfoy, who had spent so long making almost racist remarks to her. He was Draco Malfoy who had proclaimed that he wished her dead on several occasions. He was Draco Malfoy who had given her a flower and just asked her out.

He was Draco Malfoy who looked down at his lap, purposely moving his gaze away from Hermione's eyes.

I've always been under the impression that a leopard can never change its spots, Hermione said coolly. If she was going to be some new conquest of his, to Hell with him. She'd been polite to him this term because she had no choice but to work with him.

Malfoy turned his face completely away from her.

Then in one swift move, he raised himself out of the chair, knocking it to the ground, and proceeded to walk stiffly out of the library.

For a split second, Hermione watched his retreating back; then before she could even think about it, she followed him, breaking into a jog to catch up with his long strides. She caught his upper arm, and with all her strength forced him to turn and face her.

His normally pale face was tinged with pink, and he was blinking furiously.

She narrowed her eyes again as she stared at him. What's going on, Malfoy?

Silence.

When he finally spoke, his was tone harsh and forced. Last week, you asked me if everything was all right. Well it's not, something _is_ wrong. And I guess it's this. _This_ is wrong. I'm sorry for wasting your time.

With that, he wrenched his arm out of Hermione's grip, and stormed out of the library. Hermione stood staring at the empty doorway in a stunned silence.

*

Continued in Part Two****

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to mention (to anyone who was wondering) that while my plans are to eventually expand this universe' through sequels and side stories (currently including Complete and Simple), _this_ story will _not_ delve into the War against the Dart Arts – that will be covered in the upcoming sequel, The Dragon's Journey (which I've already started writing), which will deal with what happens to Draco (duh) and everyone else after the final scene of this fic. (I've grown quite fond of Widdle Dwakie in this, so I figured he needed his own screen-time...) For some background of what's been happening in this universe though, let's just say that Voldemort lost some messy battles in 5th Year but wasn't actually defeated entirely and is recuperating somewhere... hence all is quiet for the period of this story – this's just a mushily-fluffy _romance_, with a bit of angst thrown in for fun... the Action/Adventure stuff can wait... :)****

**Credits** – Songs (in order of appearance)  
-- _Just The Thing_ – Paulmac f. Peta Morris//3000 Feet High (2001)   
-- _Come What May_ – Ewan McGregor//Moulin Rouge OST (2001)   
-- _Can't Get You Out Of My Head_ – Kylie Minogue//Fever (2001)

Disclaimer – All characters and events you recognise from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling (aka _The Goddess_)   
I own nothing except the plot. Cheers :o)


	4. Part Two

**Complicated  
**_by Squin_

Part Two: To Be or Not To Be?

Harry and I came back from Hogsmeade earlier than everyone else – we didn't want to leave Hermione alone for the whole afternoon. We walk into the common room and she's sitting in an armchair in the corner with a book open in her lap.

She's not reading the book, though; she's just staring into space. Something's bothering her, I can tell.

Harry's noticed too, and he gives me a quick glance before he goes over with me and sits on the arm of the chair. Hey. We brought you loads of Chocolate Frogs, he says, handing her a brown paper bag.

She looks a little startled to see him, she must have been in her own little world. Oh, thank you, Harry, she says with a smile, which I notice doesn't reach her eyes.

What's up with her?

Probably got too much homework – she'd been off for a week, and everything.

You all right, Hermione? I ask her.

Oh, yes. Just – busy, you know.

I was right, then. She really needs to stop stressing about work, she really does. Not healthy.

says Harry, getting up, best if we leave you to it, I suppose. Don't work too hard, he adds with a smirk, knocking her on her shoulder.

I stick my hands in my pockets and watch Harry walk up to our staircase with another little glance at me that I can't quite make out the meaning of, then I turn back around to Hermione. She's definitely got something on her mind, and by the looks of it, it's not good.

Did Snape fail you on that assignment?

Hermione looks up at me blankly for a moment. Oh, no. We got full marks on it.

_You_ got full marks, you mean. As if that brainless git Malfoy had anything to do with it.

That was meant to be a joke – or something – but she doesn't find it very funny.

No, Ron. Malfoy did just as much work as I did. Actually, he's a lot smarter than we gave him credit for well, I suppose we knew that, he's second in the Year.

Yeah, since you kick his bloody arse in everything.

Don't swear, Ron, she says curtly.

Crikey, I was just trying to cheer her up.

Anyway. Did you have fun in Hogsmeade? Hermione says, obviously changing the topic.

Oh, yeah, I say, sitting down where Harry had been. It's getting sort of boring, though. I mean, we go to Zonko's, and buy stuff. Then to Honeydukes and buy stuff. Then to the Three Broomsticks and drink Butterbeer. And then we come back.

Sounds like you need a new amusement, says Hermione, sounding a tiny bit amused herself.

Ah yes, but a wise old friend once said, _it's not all fun and games anymore_, I say in my best Percy impersonation. Or something like that.

Oh, I'm _old_, now am I? She says, smiling a little and whacking me on the arm.

No offence intended, of course, I say with a grin.

Of course, she says with a sigh.

This is annoying. My cheering up is not going to plan. She was supposed to laugh, or something. Not sigh.

What did I do? I say.

says Hermione, looking up at me.

To make you sigh. What did I do?

Oh, don't be silly, Ron. I didn't sigh because of you.

There's silence.

Then why did you sigh?

Nothing, Ron. Really.

There's more silence, but this time there's a strange feeling to it. I think she wants me to leave. She's staring at her book again, but not reading. I can tell by the way her eyes are just on one spot. 

I realise that I'm just staring at one spot too, that is, Hermione, and take a quick look around the common room. Thankfully, it's empty except for a couple of younger kids playing chess in the other corner. Wouldn't want anyone to catch me acting like a pansy. I know I'm being stupid.

Then I see Crookshanks sitting on the windowsill. Can cats smirk? Because that cat is most definitely smirking at me. I stare at him with my best Stop Messing With Me stare but I think that just made him smirk more. Crazy cat.

Or am I crazy for giving a cat my best Stop Messing With Me stare?

Hermione says after a while, and I move my eyes from the stupid cat to her. Do think people can really change?

What do you mean?

she hesitates. I'm not quite sure, but if something happened to someone, do you think it could get them to change just about everything they think and feel?

This really confuses me. Did something happen to you?

No, no. Oh look, never mind, I'm just rambling. She gives me a forced smile and pushes herself out of the chair. I'll see you at dinner, she says, then heads off up the girls' staircase.

Crookshanks looks at Hermione as she's walking up the staircase, then back at me and gives me a strange look. It's sort of like a warning. What is that cat _on_? Then he scarpers up the staircase after her, leaving me sitting here, still really confused.

*

Hermione woke early on Sunday morning; the sky outside was still pitch-black and the only sound was the steady breathing of her roommates. She watched the late February snow as it fell outside her window for a quiet moment, before dressing and heading off to breakfast. With the castle still asleep, she would have some peace to think. Her mind was still clouded by a myriad of confused thoughts concerning events of the previous day, and she didn't feel like talking to anyone just yet.

A few house elves where scurrying about the Great Hall when she arrived, no doubt preparing the room for the morning meal. Hermione wandered over to the Gryffindor table, and saw Dobby polishing a golden fruit bowl with a mangy looking rag.

Good morning, Miss Hermi! squeaked the elf, as Hermione cringed inwardly at the shrill sound and the shortening of her name. You is up early, Miss Hermi! Dobby is not seeing many students up before the sun is even saying hello to me!

I'd imagine not, replied Hermione, forcing a smile and glancing around the room to watch the rest of the elves at work. It pained her to see a little elf dressed in a stained paisley tablecloth on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. They _still_ weren't keen on the idea of compensation. She shook her head. 

Dobby continued chattering away as he picked up a candelabrum and started rubbing it with his rag, but Hermione didn't catch a word he was saying. She was distracted by something in her peripheral vision – a figure in the doorway.

She swung her head around and saw the familiar back of a tall, blond-haired someone as he exited the Great Hall.

I've got to go, Dobby, it was nice talking to you again, Hermione called over her shoulder as she headed out into the Entrance Hall.

It was empty, Malfoy having left before she got there. She decisively made for the stairs to the dungeons, wanting to catch up with him before he made it to his common room. She hadn't been when Harry and Ron snuck in during Second Year, and if Malfoy had retreated there, she knew she wouldn't be able to find him.

The air was considerably colder underground. Hermione shivered and wished she had her cloak with her, while the musty smell and the gloominess made her wish she hadn't come down at all.

But she had to talk to him.

As she moved further away from the staircase, the light bleeding down from upstairs vanished into darkness. The flame torches that lined the walls of the dungeon corridor must have burnt themselves out during the night, and they hadn't yet been relit this early in the morning.

Hermione stood there waiting for her eyes to get accustomed to the gloom, as the eerie echoes of water dripping cut through the dark silence.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed forward into the blackness, trying desperately to think up an excuse to use if she was caught in the dungeons at this time of morning. Her footfalls echoed against the stone floor and walls, and she walked blindly forward with her arms out in front of her to keep her from hitting anything.

Stalking me, Granger? Malfoy's cold voice cut through the other sinister sounds in the darkened corridor from behind her, startling her to a halt. She hurriedly turned around.

Her heart beating frantically with alarm, Hermione saw him step out from the shadows. She must have walked straight past him.

I saw you – upstairs, she responded shakily, cursing herself for sounding vulnerable. I wanted to talk to you.

Did you, now? Malfoy replied with his characteristic drawl. His eyes pierced the darkness and made Hermione feel even more uncomfortable.

The two of them stood there in the dim corridor, the only sound coming from the constant _drip-drip_ from an undiscernible location, and Hermione's breathing. Had she and Malfoy been in the deserted main street of a cowboy-era mid-western American town at high noon, it could have almost been a good old-fashioned standoff. 

Malfoy moved first. As Hermione remained rooted to the spot, he cut across the corridor and walked a little way down it. Hermione turned and saw him muttering _Alohomora_ at the lock on a narrow wooden door. He pushed it open and turned to her.

Ladies first, he said, holding his arm out to the doorway. The twinge of a smirk was just visible on his face as Hermione's eyes began adjusting to the lack of light.

Swallowing hard, she entered the room. It was even darker than the corridor and she felt her pulse pounding in her ears at the sound of Malfoy shutting the door behind him. It locked with a click.

Two flame torches hung on the walls of the room burst into life, casting a flickering glow onto the walls.

It was bright enough now for Hermione to see three pairs of chains and manacles hanging off one wall, a stone bench in one corner and a rack of rusty and painful looking weapons. It must have been a disused torture chamber. Not surprising at all that he'd brought her in here, Hermione thought to herself. The walls were glistening from dripping water and covered in brownish-green fungus that gave the room a positively wretched odour.

Nice place for a chat, Hermione muttered mordantly, trying to ignore the hairs on her neck pricking up.

Indeed, the perfect place for breakfast with the son of a Death Eater, Malfoy said expressionlessly, walking over to the stone bench and leaning against it. Hermione noted the mouldy leather straps and rusty buckles and vainly tried to find a more pleasant object to look at.

Finding nothing, she allowed her gaze to lock with Malfoy's calculating glare. Whether that was a more pleasant thing to look at was a matter of relativity.

So, what do you want, Granger?

Hermione wondered if his saying her first name yesterday was a slip of the tongue. A brief lapse in sanity. She regarded him for a moment and realised she had put herself in this position. There was no turning back now.

_Carpe diem._

Last week, I asked you if you were all right, she began, keeping her voice steady. Yesterday, you told me what was wrong. Today, I want you to explain that to me.

Malfoy stared at her vacuously. You shouldn't care, Granger. You've got your little clichéd opinions, go and be happy with them.

Hermione's jaw dropped open. She felt her cheeks flush with anger. Are you accusing me of being _ignorant_, Malfoy? she asked forcefully. Because you're certainly one to talk about being _ignorant_, aren't you? Looking at me like I'm some second-class citizen just because my Grandparents can't help me with my Transfiguration homework. _You_ are the prejudiced _bastard_, not me, she spat. 

Malfoy responded smoothly. Your mangy friend Weasley has sure sullied up that pretty little mouth of yours, hasn't he? He paused for a moment, a sneer tugging at one corner of his mouth. I'm surprised he can afford to pay you, though. 

As she took in all the implications of his words, Hermione clenched her fists so tight she thought her fingernails might draw blood from her palms. Her stomach knotted. I am going to ignore that pathetic insinuation, Malfoy, she said tensely. Her breathing became ragged and heavy. I am going to ignore it because you are obviously suffering some sort of – some sort of _crisis_, and, on top of that, had no human decency in you to begin with! she screeched. I'm sorry I bothered to pay attention to someone who looked like they needed it – she continued, before Malfoy cut her off harshly.

I _don't_ need your sympathy, Granger! he roared.

Hermione stared at him. So what do you want? she said quietly after a moment.

Still leaning against the stone bench, Malfoy didn't respond.

The silence was as bad as a thousand howlers opening simultaneously in the Great Hall.

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes before turning her back on him and marching to the door. She reached for the latch.

You don't believe I can change, do you? Malfoy's voice was quiet now. There was almost a sense of defeat to it. 

Hermione stopped and stared at the dark wood of the door. She didn't trust herself to turn and face him. Have you changed, Malfoy?

It was a redundant question. She knew the boy who came back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays couldn't have been the one who had left. He was more reserved than he had been and he had started acting almost _civil_ towards her, although he hadn't been showing it that morning.

Do you think I have? he asked by way of answering her.

Crossing her arms in front of her chest in an attempt to keep warm, Hermione turned around and looked at him. His face was impassive. Empty. What happened to you, Malfoy?

He didn't respond.

Did you get hurt?

Hermione bit her bottom lip. The question she had in mind was very personal. But she had to know. Do you – does your father She couldn't finish.

Beat me? Malfoy provided her. There was a trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Hermione nodded and looked away. The rack of torture instruments didn't make the situation any easier for her.

Malfoy snorted and then let out a short, hollow laugh. Why does everyone always come to the conclusion that I've been abused my whole life by my Death Eater Dad and living under the damn Imperious Curse?

Well something must have made you become the arrogant git you are, Hermione lifted her chin up and stared him straight in the eyes.

I haven't been under any sort of conditioning other than the dinner-table conversation of my parents and their friends, he responded curtly.

Hermione understood what he meant. That's almost the worst kind, she said quietly, looking away. He'd been brought up to act like a bastard.

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders and pushed himself of the bench. He walked over to the chains hanging on the walls. This must have been detention, back in the day Filch's little domain.

What made you change, Malfoy? Hermione asked, not wanting to avoid the issue.

Does it matter? He asked, turning to her.

Hermione started lightly, when a boy who's hated me for as long as you have starts bringing me flowers and asking me out, I think I have a right to know whether I'm dealing with a lunatic or not.

What looked like a real smile came over Malfoy's face. I guess that must have been odd, he said, looking straight at her.

Hermione returned the eye contact. So, what was it? Surely it couldn't be my astounding skill at brewing a Memory Potion that made you fall in love with m – 

She shut her mouth in a hurry and looked away.

It felt like the temperature of the air in the room had risen by twenty degrees.

Malfoy walked up to her and stood barely three inches away. Hermione turned her head to look up at him.

You know when something happens and you just can't explain it – that X-File thing you said yesterday?

Unable to get her vocal cords to function properly, Hermione just nodded.

Well, this is one of those things.

Hermione was suddenly aware of Malfoy's face getting closer to hers. Her whole body tensed as she looked straight back into his eyes. He started to tilt his head just slightly and without thinking, Hermione felt herself leaning in.

That was when she panicked.

She pulled back abruptly and rushed to the door. After some tugging, the latch opened and she pushed the door, hoping to whoever could help her that no one saw a Gryffindor rushing out of the dungeons at six-thirty on a Sunday morning.

*

Oh, here she is, says Ginny, who's facing the door.

I swivel around in my seat to watch Hermione walk into the Hall for breakfast. Sure it's Sunday, but she's _always_ here before I am. She looks a bit grumpy this morning. She's been acting funny since yesterday.

Morning, Sunshine, I say, grinning. She doesn't respond. I guess Raincloud' or something might have been a better nickname. But of course that sounds stupid. What's this, the Great Hermione Granger, late for breakfast? What _is_ the world coming to?

Shut up, Ron, she snaps at me, sitting down next to me and reaching for the toast which is next to my bowl. The porridge is really dodgy today.

Ginny makes a tutting noise at me as Hermione takes two bits of toast out of the rack thingy with the tips of her fingers.

I ask Ginny before cluncking my spoon down and helping myself to some toast, but she just rolls her eyes.

Oh, here's your _Daily Prophet_, says Harry, passing it over to Hermione – she had missed the owl post.

Where were you, anyway? asks Ginny.

I just thought I'd sleep in. I didn't get much sleep last night. Hermione says, absentmindedly stabbing a piece of half-buttered toast with her knife.

Are you OK? I ask.

Yeah. Fine.

Yeah. Right.

I look across to Harry and Ginny who look just as bewildered as I feel. Dean and Seamus have noticed too, and they raise their eyebrows at me. I shrug back.

Then Dean gives me this Look that says, quite plainly, _That Time Of The Month_, and it's very hard to keep from laughing, when Hermione pushes her chair back and walks out without even saying anything.

I'm going to go see what's wrong, says Ginny – obviously missing Dean's Look, which is a good thing, she probably would've hurt him if she'd seen it – getting up, putting her napkin on the table.

It's OK, I say. I'll go. I leave without looking back at her, because she's obviously giving me a weird look. I'd be giving myself a weird look too. Why am I going?

Because I'm a nutter.

That's why.

Hermione's going to tell me to leave her alone and that whatever is wrong with her is none of my business.

I follow her out into the Entrance Hall and she gives me this really hollow look as I come up next to her.

You really don't seem fine, Hermione, I say as she opens the right oak door and goes outside. She doesn't have her cloak, and it's still really cold.

I don't have my cloak either, for that matter. She is one hundred percent mad, going outside in this weather. It's bloody freezing.

Hermione keeps walking, ignoring me, or maybe just not answering. She's walking really fast, trying to get away, but I know she knows it takes less effort for me to keep up with her. Her face is sort of screwed up in annoyance. I know I'm in big trouble, but I can't let her be alone when she's all worked up like this, she might get hurt. Or something.

She still doesn't reply as the both of us reach the shore of the lake, our breath rising in frost in front of our faces.

I say, a little puffed as we come up to a fallen log.

She sits down heavily, and wraps her arms around herself trying – stupidly – to keep warm.

Come on, Hermione, let's go inside. It's bloody freezing.

Ron, why'd you follow me out here? she asks, looking up at me. There's something in her eyes I can't quite figure out. She's confused. Searching for something. But I don't think she's looking for it in me.

I have to admit I have no idea how to answer that question. Why _am_ I out here? I look at her and try to figure out what to say, but I can't. So I just sit down next to her on the log, trying really hard to ignore the fact that my backside is now soaked and freezing from the snow I'm sitting on. This girl is barking, I tell you. Barking, howling mad.

There are no birds, the wind is still and the silence is quite unnerving. I shiver and shuffle my feet in the snow, making it turn into muddy slush as it mixes with the dirt underneath.

I say finally. I'm sure whatever's wrong with you is none of my business but – 

You're absolutely right, Ron, she cuts me off gruffly. This _is_ none of your business, so why don't you just go back inside if you're so _bloody freezing_ and leave me alone?

Now, I know I was expecting her to yell at me, but I don't know why I feel so hurt. I turn around to look at her. Her face is flushed red but her eyes are glistening with tears. Scared tears.

I start, but can't think of anything to say. I don't want to leave her here alone. I can't. Knowing how stubborn she is, she'll just sit here till she freezes to death.

She leans over and puts her face in her hands, elbow leaning on her knees. I can tell she's trying to wipe the tears out of her eyes.

I wish she would just tell me what was wrong. We could make it better. I could make it better.

We sit there a little longer, and Hermione sits up again, staring into space as snow starts falling.

Great.

I turn around a bit and look at her, the snow sprinkled through her hair. It's so cold it doesn't melt, just stays in pretty snowflake shapes.

I know I probably sound like a pansy, but it really does look pretty. Oh am I in big trouble now.

says Hermione looking up at me.

I say. Then I have an idea of something that might work. Or maybe it won't, it's quite stupid. Oh what the hell. You've got snow on your nose, by the way, did you know that? I grin, quite pleased with my brilliant wit. Of course.

She blinks at me for a few moments. She doesn't get it.

But then she smiles she smiles! And actually laughs! You've spent all these years trying to get back at me for that dirt' comment, haven't you?

She _does_ remember that stupid snooty little comment she made to me on our first ride on the Hogwarts Express! Hah! I just look at her and keep grinning.

Come on then, Ronniekins, she says standing up, grinning too, and holding her hand out to me. Your mother would kill me if you got pneumonia because I was being moody.

I smirk as I take her hand and get up. Honestly, any Moodier and you'd have a magic eye and a wooden leg

Oh, God, she says, stopping in her tracks and looking up at me. That was a bad call, Ron. Very, _very_, bad.

I laugh as she smirks at me. All right. It _was_ bad.

So you're OK? I ask her.

I'm fine, Ron, she says. Thank you.

But after that we trudge back up to the castle in silence. Hermione's got her hands in her pockets and is just looking down at her feet. I should've known I couldn't do anything to make her feel better. I really wish I knew how I could.

_So no one told you life was gonna be this way  
Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love-life's D.O.A.  
It's like you're always stuck in second gear  
When it hasn't been your day, your week,  
your month, or even your year_

_But, I'll be there for you  
When the rain starts to fall  
I'll be there for you  
Like I've been there before  
I'll be there for you  
'Cause you're there for me too_

*

Despite putting on an amiable attitude in the end to get Ron to stop worrying about her, Hermione went through the next week feeling incredibly lost. Her early-morning meeting with Malfoy had created more questions than answering them, and a maelstrom of bewildered emotions milled inside her. She became very quiet in classes, not answering questions with her usual enthusiasm and was very withdrawn. 

What was just as worrying was that everyone else has seemed to pick up on her unsettled demeanour. And while it was comforting to know that her friends cared so much about her, Hermione didn't want to think about what they'd say if she told them she was a bit confused about how Malfoy had nearly kissed her.

And why she had almost let him.

AND not to mention why he had wanted to in the first place.

It was even harder to try and understand the whole mess while he was sitting right next to her. She looked up at the hourglass on the ledge above the door and willed the sand to flow a little faster, as futile as it was. The class had just begun.

Miss Granger, Snape's icy voice broke her reverie. It was amazing how without raising any volume he could send spasms of fear down a student's back by just his tone.

Hermione looked up and stared at him squarely in the eyes. She refused to have him belittle her. Having read all her texts over the summer she knew today's assigned potion backwards; she could handle any question.

If you wouldn't mind, I think it's time for a bit more _class participation_ from you today. To the front please, Snape said curtly.

Hermione pushed her chair back, catching a few sympathetic glances from Harry, Ron and Parvati, who were sitting nearby. She heard a cold snicker coming from behind her that was distinctly Pansy Parkinson's.

Snape handed her a piece of chalk as she reached the blackboard. It was as cold as steel, like just about everything else in his classroom. She looked down at it. It was brand-new and a pale, creamy colour. It was the same colour as Malfoy's pale skin. Hermione wanted to wretch.

If you would list the ingredients required in a Mandrake Restorative Draught, _please_, Miss Granger, Snape said to her. Hermione looked up at him and blinked.

He smiled thinly and cruelly. I understand it's not in the course this year, but it will be valuable to examine the similarities and differences between this and the lesser restorative potions we're currently studying. And you having had some experience of it, I'm sure you'd – 

There was a loud clash. Hermione turned around quickly to face the class again and saw Ron standing at his desk, his face flushed red and his empty cauldron lying on the ground where it had fallen.

What is it Mr Weasley? Snape growled at him.

Ron yelled right back at him. What does Hermione having had that stupid potion when she was – he winced – _Petrified_ have to do with her knowing what's in it?

Hermione furrowed her brow as she looked at him, Harry tugging on his sleeve to get him to sit down. Why was that upsetting him so much? She _did_ know what was in it, _because_ she'd be given it. Wanting to understand as much as possible, she'd researched the Mandrake Draught the summer after Second Year, spending quite a bit of time at the National Wizarding Library in Diagon Alley, which was a large building two doors down from Gringotts.

Sit _down_, Ron! Harry muttered. He looked up at Hermione and gave her a What's Wrong With Him Look. Hermione shook her head slightly and shrugged, her eyes wide with equivalent confusion. The rest of the class sat staring at Ron in a perplexed silence.

Malfoy however, Hermione quickly noted, was not looking perplexedly at Ron. He was looking at him pensively. She wondered what he was thinking when he turned to her, and smirked. Hermione cringed. 

She was still cringing when Snape howled five points away from Gryffindor and ordered Ron to detention later that night.

Ron sat down and stared at his desk as if his eyes held enough anger to burn a hole in it. His ears blazed red.

Snape turned to Hermione. 

She turned around and shut her eyes, taking two deep breaths to try and calm herself. What did Ron think he was doing? She could look after herself!

She lifted the stick of chalk, which was no longer cold, but warm and slightly damp from her clammy, agitated palms, and listed the ingredients on the blackboard in her neat cursive. When she had finished she turned to find Snape staring at her list in an almost perfect attempt to hide his shock. His eyes, however, betrayed his disbelief. The Mandrake Restorative Draught wasn't even on the Seventh Year curriculum.

Very good, Miss Granger, Snape said without sentiment, still re-reading the list of ingredients, which Hermione knew was infallible.

Not expecting any points to be awarded, she walked back to her desk without being told to.

Neville's jaw was hanging open, Lavender actually smiled and Dean gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up sign.

Harry smiled too when she got closer to his and Ron's desk. Ron, however, was looking at her with a similar statement to Neville. 

Hermione smiled widely at him. Didn't think I knew everything? she whispered. 

Be seated, Granger, came Snape's voice, and Ron didn't have a chance to answer.

Snape held the Gryffindors back after the class to clean out all the cauldrons – including the Sytherins' – and Ron for his detention after that.

As the rest of her housemates trudged out, Snape went into his office to put Ron's wand away for the detention. Hermione went past Ron on her way to the door. He was at the front of the classroom having been instructed to clean the blackboard with an ordinary duster to start with.

You didn't have to stand up to Snape for me, she said quietly. I can handle him.

Well _sorry_, muttered Ron irately. I'm sorry for _always_ butting in on your business.

Hermione looked at him, his ears turning red again, and just sighed. What on Earth was wrong with him? Not knowing what else to say and not wanting to get into more trouble when Snape returned, she walked out of the classroom without a word.

The rest of her classmates were a fair way ahead of her in the dungeon corridors. _Run, not walk_, was the unwritten motto for non-Slytherin students at the end of potions lessons.

Hermione walked slowly as she came to the narrow wooden door of the room where she spoken to Malfoy that last Sunday morning. She stopped and put her fingers to the latch.

Locked.

She certainly hadn't been expecting anything other than that. It wasn't that she was disappointed. She could easily unlock it herself. But she didn't want to. She simply stood with her hand leaning on the door for a moment, then turned back to look in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons which were somewhere down the cold stone corridor.

She shivered and shook herself to her senses. She was being silly.

Rather than going all the way up to Gryffindor tower and then back down again, Hermione decided to go to the library for the forty-five minutes or so they had before dinner.

Walking down the deserted portrait-lined corridor, she stopped and looked up at an empty gilded frame she hadn't noticed earlier. Of course the Hogwarts paintings did as they wished, but Hermione had probably walked through this particular corridor more than anyone else in the history of the school. She knew all the paintings, and they all knew her.

The frame wasn't exactly empty. In it was a swirling pool of blue and violet – clouds? The colours were iridescent as they moved and eddied. And the mist wasn't just flat, either, but three-dimensional.

Harry had told her about Dumbledore's Pensieve, and while she hadn't seen it herself, Hermione thought the mist in the portrait-frame certainly looked a lot like light made liquid – or wind made solid.' Was this painting a giant Pensieve?

Hermione stared at it, quite enchanted. Almost hypnotised, she dropped her backpack and reached her right arm up to touch it. 

Weren't you ever told not to touch strange things? came a familiar voice from behind her, causing her to jump around, holding back a startled gasp. 

Malfoy stood there, casually leaning against the oak frame of a napping Agrippa's portrait on the opposite wall. There was, as so often there was, the slightest twinge of a smirk on his lips.

Hermione wondered how he'd got there. The corridor _had_ been empty. His ability to sneak about was becoming quite disconcerting.

She frowned at him then turned back around to the golden frame with it's strange morphing clouds. What is this? she said after a little while, still staring.

A painting, Malfoy replied curtly.

Hermione felt the blood rush to her face as she scowled to herself.

_Dickhead._

She didn't reply, but instead lifted her hand up again and gingerly put it though the frame.

Sure, she'd been told not to touch strange things. She'd also been told there was no such thing as magic.

A warm tingling sensation passed into her fingers and down her arm and she quickly snapped her hand out of the mist.

The tingling stopped just as quickly.

Hermione turned back to Malfoy with a searching glare.

His smirk widened. Cool, huh?

Hermione rolled her eyes, picked up her bag again, and walked away. That made two prats she'd walked out on in the space of ten minutes.

But before she had gotten very far, Malfoy's voice came back from behind her, almost scathing in tone. It was nice of your boyfriend to defend you against Snape this afternoon, wasn't it?

Hermione stopped and turned on her heel to face Malfoy, rolling her eyes and letting out a frustrated groan. Malfoy's references to Ron were starting to get on her nerves, though she couldn't quite understand why they were grating on her that much. She considered herself immune to his insults after all these years.

Don't you know what friends are for, Malfoy? Snape was out of line in asking me to do that and everyone knew it. Just shut up and leave me alone, she scowled. And leave Ron out of it.

Malfoy just continued to smirk as he walked over to her, grasped her shoulder and pulled her back in front of the frame.

she glowered at him again.

Not answering her, he lifted her right hand back into the glowing swirl of colour. The tingling returned.

It's a portal, he said. See that glowing purple ball in the middle? Grab on to it.

Hermione turned up and looked at him, frowning.

Go on, said Malfoy with a little nod towards the swirling in the frame.

Looking into the swirls, Hermione saw a light she hadn't noticed before. It was deep violet and about the size of a tom bowler marble. She reached further in for a moment and then hesitated.

To _where_, exactly, was this thing a portal? Considering the company she was in, ending up in a graveyard full of Death Eaters was a most distinct possibility.

But before she could pull her had away from the orb, Malfoy wrapped his fingers around hers and covered it with them.

The tingling spread through out her body from her arm. It wasn't at all like the almost violent navel-tugging felt when using a Portkey, but rather a gentle pull.

Hermione kept her eyes open and looked around as everything went purpley-pink.

Then suddenly the colours around her went back to normal and she found herself standing next to Malfoy in a normal-enough looking corridor.

The strange picture was next to her as well, but it was on her right instead of her left. It was as if they'd been transported to the other side of the frame.

Hermione turned around and walked a few steps down the unfamiliar corridor.

Are we still in Hogwarts?

Were you expecting to be in France? Malfoy asked mockingly.

Oh shut up, Malfoy.

You asked me a question.

Hermione rolled her eyes again.

Since changing staircases and hidden corridors were a everyday feature of Hogwarts, Hermione wasn't too concerned about finding herself in this particular one. She was more interested in how she got there.

Looking back into the frame, she saw the library corridor through the mist. A young Ravenclaw walked past, oblivious to the fact she was being watched by more than just paintings.

It's like a one-way mirror, Malfoy answered Hermione's question before she could ask it.

How did you know about it? she asked, still examining the mystical substance in the frame, trailing her fingers through it.

I made it.

Hermione turned sharply and looked at him.

Malfoy shrugged. I was playing around with some spells a couple of summers ago. It's just a lame version of a Portkey, really. Obviously it doesn't take you anywhere fun. But to most people it just looks like a normal painting. They wouldn't see the actual thing.

A visibility spell?

Ten points. There's on the object and one for the observer. It's all pretty much automatic, but I can override it, like I did just now to let you see it.

Hermione was impressed. Visibility spells were from Seventh Year Charms, and, as a Sixth Year, Draco generally shouldn't have the ability to cast one – let alone one complex enough to allow some people to see things others couldn't.

But she decided not to show it.

So, it's just a doorway to a corridor, then? she asked nonchalantly.

I guess so.

Hermione looked at him searchingly. Why wasn't he bragging about it? 

Why did you show it to me? she asked after a little while.

Malfoy shrugged again. I thought you might be interested. You seem it, so I was right.

It's fascinating, Hermione said as dryly as she could. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the library. She turned back around to the frame but saw nothing but a normal painting in the same gilded frame. A girl who looked like she came from Ancient Greece was feeding a Pegasus.

Wh – where is the swirly _thing_? she spat.

What, this? Malfoy asked as he brought his hand up and waved it in front of her face.

The painting vanished, and the eddying colours reappeared.

You can do _wandless magic_?! Hermione breathed out in shock as she started at Malfoy.

I can do a lot of things, he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

Well. Then. Hermione searched for something to say. Good for you.

She wanted to kick herself. Instead she reached back into the frame for the glowing purple ball.

Malfoy said as he grabbed her arm.

Hermione twisted it out of his grip. 

We had something we were supposed to do.

Hermione frowned. There weren't any assignments. Were there? A sense of alarm started to fill her, but she didn't have time to process her Things To Do list. She didn't have time to process much at all, actually. 

Because before she could have said essay', Malfoy cupped her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her hard on the mouth.

Hermione squirmed, but he reached one arm around her back and held her to him.

Mpfump – op! she gagged out as she pushed him away by slamming hard on his chest with both hands.

She stared at Malfoy for a split second, blinking in shock.

Then she slapped him. Hard.

The impact sent him stumbling backwards and in the instant his head was turned away, Hermione reached out and grabbed the glowing orb in the frame.

Moments later she was back in the library corridor, and from there she ran to Gryffindor Tower – the only place Malfoy wouldn't be able to follow her.

*

Stupid detention. Stupid Snape. Stupid me for saying that stupid thing to stupid Snape for stupid Hermione.

Aaaaaaaargh.

I don't even know why I did that, and now everyone thinks I'm a flaming nutcase.

I make sure not to hurt my fingers any more as I climb into the portrait hole. Stupid Snape made me gut rats and separate various bits of their stupid insides to use in various bits of stupid potions.

Luckily, the rats were frozen so they didn't smell. Unluckily, my fingers are just about frozen off so they don't do much at all, except smell. 

I am so stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid.

Hermione's sitting on the windowsill and staring out. What is _wrong_ with her? Will she just _stop_ moping around?

I suppose I should apologise for being a stupid stupid prat.

But I really had to say something to him. It wasn't that I didn't think she knew the potion.

Well it was that too.

But it was more just stupid Snape bringing up when she was Petrified.

God.

That was the scariest thing I have ever had to live through.

Scarier than being bitten by a dragon. Scarier than being trapped in that stupid plant trying to get the Philosopher's Stone. Scarier than knowing you're about to get smashed to smithereens on by an abnormally large chess piece. Scarier that crashing a car into a psychotic tree. Scarier than being about to get killed by giant spiders. Scarier than being trapped in a cave with that smarmy git Lockhart while your sister and best friend are being attacked by an evil monster. Scarier than being dragged away by a killer dog and facing a killer escapee while you have a broken leg. Scarier than werewolves. Scarier than Demontors. Scarier than knowing Death Eaters are attacking innocent people. Scarier than being put to sleep to be a hostage. Scarier than your best friend vanishing and then coming back with a kid's body and news that a psychotic evil megalomaniac was back. Scarier than _everything_ that happened last year.

I know it doesn't make sense. We've been though some scary shit over the past few years. But

I close my eyes and gulp, trying not to start bawling in the middle of the common room. Yeah, that'd be a good move. They don't think you're enough of a stupid dunderhead already.

I say, wringing my fingers together to try and get the blood flowing. I can't actually feel them though. The Slytherin match is in a week. Harry's going to kill me if my fingers fall off and I can't hold on to my broomstick.

She doesn't respond.

I say again.

She looks up. 

I'm sorry for yelling at you this afternoon

*

That's fine, Ron, Hermione said to him as she returned to staring out the window. She felt sick to her stomach. But it was a strange sort of nice-sickness too. 

She hardly heard his apology, and barely noticed him muttering something about his fingers and going up to his dorm before dinner.

She knew she couldn't eat anything, and tried to think of an excuse for when he and Harry came back down to get her.

*

_To Be Continued in Part Three_

Author's Notes – I'd really, really, _really_ love feedback on how this is going: good, bad, whatever -- so please leave a review! I also apologise profusely for the dodgy Moody call, I just realised I needed an HP-pun somewhere to really mark my place as a ff. writer of substance *wink to **LoPotter** and **Lady Norbert**, HP-pun experts* Hee hee! Aaaaaand, if you'd like me to let you know when I've posted the next chapter, just leave a note in your review or email me, schquinnay@yahoo.com.au, and I'll add you to the mailing list.

Credits – Songs/Quotes (in order of appearance)  
-- JK Rowling, Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, Bloomsbury, London, 2000. Quote re Pensieve p507.  
-- _I'll Be There For You_ – The Rembrandts (1996)

Disclaimer – All characters and events you recognise from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling (aka _The Goddess_)  
I own nothing except the dodgy plot. Cheers :o)

**The Harry Potter Plot Bunnies** -- _Making the world safer for people who don't exist _http://www.geocities.com/plotbunnies


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